rememberist.bsky.social
Owner/bookseller at Berkeley Books of Paris (2005-2019). Veteran of St. Mark's Bookshop and Posman's in NYC, and Serendipity Books in Berkeley.
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In France, that kind of coffee is called jus de chaussette. The way my eyebrows went up when I first heard that, but now I know they're not wrong.
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I'm drawing moral courage from my dad. Decades before I was born, he was rolling through France and Germany with Patton's army. He wrote hundreds of letters home. Here he is in 1945, practicing his French skills on his wife. Good to see his humor was intact.
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Mare see Aireek.
It's good to see you here. How are you and your books doing?
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Why would you want to subjugate your fellow human beings when mangoes and Moonstruck exists? What made you so hostile toward your own pleasure? Honestly, don’t answer that, the response would probably be flavorless.
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What impeccable timing. Just yesterday, I looked for you on the bad old site. I hope you're well and as happy as possible, considering our times.
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/…He was tried & convicted, in his absence, in England for seditious libel in 1792 for publishing "The Rights of Man" in as he argued that revolution is permissible when a government does not safeguard rights of its people. He supported French Revolution & called for abolition of British Monarchy…/
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The first book I thought of was Mantel's A Place of Greater Safety. An absolute unit right there.
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There's a national association for surviving members of the Resistance and friends.
The fight against fascism, racism, and xenophobia is still on, and still hot.
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Here's a grainy picture of my old friend André on his motorcycle, surrounded by fellow Maquis. At 18, he was a courier in the French Resistance.
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When Hanff finally visited London, Leo Marks invited her to dinner. It's unlikely that the subject of the Charing Cross Road spy ring came up in the evening's conversation. Code-breaking operations were classified well into the 1970s. This book wasn't cleared for publication until 1998.
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Helene Hanff fans will know him as the son of Ben Marks, the proprietor of an antiquarian bookshop in London. I can't wait to read about S.O.E. agents passing messages to each other and doing coding work over tea and cakes at 84, Charing Cross Road.
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"Attendez," he said, and went back to his truck. A second box, this one containing Leo Marks's gigantic memoir, was soon passed through my window. It's been a memorable book day out here in the French countryside.
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This is southwest France. One of these days, there will be a sausage. I think they grow wild here.
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I definitely will. It seems that a few old Berkeley Books regulars are going to meet me in Hay. That will be extremely cool.
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Woe is the word. I wish you a swift convalescence and access to a good bookshop.
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O no. Did you recover them?
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Thanks so much.
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I think it's finally time to arrange a trip to Hay. Any recs you care to share would be greatly appreciated. Of course, now I have to arrange for someone to feed my cat and the five not-my-kittens who live next to the house.
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Wow. How did you do that? I dream of going to Hay with a couple of empty suitcases.
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The whole country is about to be looted again by these criminals. Why would anyone carry on paying taxes and following laws when the deck is so thoroughly stacked against them?
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Thanks for the precision. I grew up in Logan Square, and know next to nothing about rural beasts. Every day, these five emerge from their fleecy beds next to the house and gather at my door for breakfast. Must say, it's a mighty fine sight first thing in the morning.
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It's been four months now, and they're not acting like ferals. I've been so involved with raising them, they all act like they're my outdoor kittens. So I guess my new calling is being a cat farmer. Turns out, you can herd 'em.
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Now that you mention it, this would be a good time to put some stories together. Thank you for the spark. When I look back at my trajectory, well, I have a hard time believing it myself.
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I'm still low-key surprised at how well I took to country living. It's the very definition of idyllic. From time to time, my tired Parisian friends come down to rest and recuperate. How are you holding up in these times of ours?
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Michael! I've been wondering about you, darlin' Michael, and here you are. I'm grinning like a fool.
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My cat (not pictured, all these little ones are feral) takes care of the mouse situation. He's so skilled, at this point any mouse that approaches the house is probably just tired of living.